


The Wrong Kind of Hurt

by TetrodotoxinB



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: D/s AU, Dom!Sam, Edging, Happy good time sex at the end, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized self-blame about the dubcon, Intimate partner abuse, It was all Rumlow, M/M, Past dubcon/noncon, Sam does not abuse Steve, dubcon, foot whipping, sub!Steve, to be clear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: As Sam gets back to his feet, the slimy bastard grins and mutters some shit about HYDRA and not taking prisoners, but what catches his attention isn’t the threat of impending death. It’s just one little phrase, something almost unimportant in the long-winded bullshit this guy keeps spewing.“Order only comes through pain.”And it’s like the world around him grinds to a halt when he hears those words. There are more words that follow, but Sam doesn’t hear any of it over the rush of blood in his ears.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	The Wrong Kind of Hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icoulddothisallday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/gifts).



> Thank you to the lovely and wonderful [ICouldDoThisAllDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/pseuds/icoulddothisallday) for betaing this and also for coming up with this prompt and then conning me into writing this.... hey why I am thanking you????? I think I just got tricked into writing you something.

It’s been two years since Steve woke up. Three months since he ran into Sam’s life. Two months since Sam started putting him down regularly. Ninety-six hours since Sam last got Steve leveled out — a full twenty-four hours past Steve’s normal limit. Sam knows that Steve’s running on nothing more than adrenaline and righteous fury because he can hear the rough, gravelly force of every word over the comms, like each syllable is an effort that Steve doesn’t have the energy for.

Sam pushes Steve’s bullshit out of his head, and strips out of the remainder of his EXO suit, taking up a tactical position. He’s grounded — his flight suit destroyed — and now he’s about to be stuck fighting with that douche from Steve’s STRIKE team that arrested them yesterday. The dude seriously makes his skin crawl. 

After a little self-aggrandizing monologuing by this Rumlow guy, Sam lands a few solid hits to the bastard, and it’s surprisingly satisfying. But a headbutt stuns him enough that a solid shove sends Sam stumbling backwards, and he lands on his ass, skidding back across the waxed linoleum floor. It figures this asshole would use a headbutt — he’s certainly not using his brain for much else.

As Sam gets back to his feet, the slimy bastard grins and mutters some shit about HYDRA and not taking prisoners, but what catches his attention isn’t the threat of impending death. It’s just one little phrase, something almost unimportant in the long-winded bullshit this guy keeps spewing.

“Order only comes through pain.”

And it’s like the world around him grinds to a halt when he hears those words. There are more words that follow — all stupid, bullshit threats intended to scare him — but Sam doesn’t hear any of it over the rush of blood in his ears.

*****

_“Order through pain, Sam. I don’t go down easy. I know it’s a lot to ask, but it’s what I need to be right again.”_

_It’s a canned line if Sam’s ever heard one. “Have you ever tried something else?”_

_Steve shrugs. “I used to give Bucky hell. If he didn’t put me down hard enough, we’d end up in a fist fight. Hell, sometimes we did anyway.”_

_It’s an obvious non-answer but Sam just nods. He’s dealt out his fair share of pain over the years; Steve’s hardly the only sub that needs to hurt to go down. But Sam just doesn’t like the way Steve talks about “order” like he’s some sort of fuck up that just needs straightening out. Being a sub isn’t a disorder, it isn’t a problem that needs to be managed. But Sam knows that’s a conversation for another time, later in their relationship._

_Decision made, Sam undoes his belt and slides it out of the loops. “Strip, Steve.”_

_“Yes, Sam.”_

*****

Sam’s known, he’s known all this time that his dumbass, stubborn sub had a drop partner on the STRIKE team. Subs aren’t allowed into combat without a drop partner, not even Captain America. The one time it ever came up in conversation Steve assured him it wasn’t sexual, that he and Sam were exclusive. Sam had believed him. He’s pretty sure he still does. 

But knowing that Steve has been kneeling for this sick, sadistic bastard fills Sam with rage. Steve may like pain, hell he might even need it in order to get into the right headspace, but neither of those things means that he deserves it. Sam’s going to kill this sleazy sonofabitch, and then him and Steve are gonna have a talk. A long fucking talk.

*****

They’ve been home from the hospital for three days. Steve’s still gritting his teeth when he stands up, and he walks around stiff as a board. None of the stuff they gave him at the hospital made a dent in his pain, and Steve didn’t even bother to fill the prescriptions when they finally left. But pain or no, it’s been a week since Sam put him down proper, and it’s starting to show in some big ways. 

When Steve loses his grip on his spoon for the third time, oatmeal landing on the table and presumably Steve’s lap yet again, Sam sets his own spoon down. He waits while Steve shakily cleans up the mess with his napkin and then Sam clears his throat.

“You’re dropping,” he observes flatly. To be fair, Sam’s on edge, too. It’s also been a week since Sam went up, since he’s hit headspace from domming Steve. But he’s not healing from multiple major surgeries or being shot or stabbed or drowned. He’s fine. He can deal. Steve’s not fine and he’s not dealing.

“I know,” Steve says quietly, looking disappointed by the truth in Sam’s statement.

“We can’t exactly do what we normally do,” Sam points out. “How do you think we ought to do this?”

The ball’s in Steve court and he looks just as frustrated by that as he does every other time Sam tries this. “I mean, the doc said I need to make sure to stay level while I’m healing but we aren’t allowed to do anything heavy.”

Sam nods. He’s read the discharge paperwork twenty times already.

“Um, I mean, my feet are alright, I guess. Foot whipping?” Steve suggests. It sounds like some kid in math class throwing out a random number when he has no idea how to solve the problem on the board because he wasn’t listening.

“No. Steve, look, I don’t mind hurting you if you like it, but we gotta talk about this. That Rumlow guy, your drop partner-”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “How’d you find out?”

“‘Order through pain’ or some bullshit. Yeah, go on and make that guilty-ass face, man. Now I know where you got that dumbass line. So look, you wanna hurt? Fine. You need to hurt to go down? So do a lot of folks. But this ‘being a sub is a disorder best cured through punishment’ shit is gonna stop.”

Steve has the good sense to look vaguely chastened by Sam’s words but not enough sense to say anything.

Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes but he can’t quite stop the sigh. “Dude, have you ever tried to go down any other way?”

“No,” Steve admits as he tries to take another shaky bite of oatmeal, this time leaning as far over the table as his stitches let him. 

Fucking of course Steve hasn’t tried anything else; Sam’s not sure why he thought otherwise. He wants to beat Steve’s obstinate head with a frying pan but just watching him try to eat oatmeal gives Sam phantom pains, so instead he crosses his arms and counts down from ten before calmly asking, “Why not?”

Steve swallows his mouthful of oatmeal, drops the spoon into the bowl, and leans back slowly. “Bucky was the only drop partner I could get. I mean, I’m sure there were some men who’d have paid me to kneel for them. A fine-boned young man that couldn’t even grow a beard, there was a market. But Bucky didn’t like that idea and neither did I. We found something that worked, but he was always a skirt chaser.”

“And Rumlow?”

Steve’s jaw tenses for a moment. “I needed a drop partner on the team to be an active combatant.”

Sam waits for Steve to continue but he clearly thinks he’s explained everything that needs explaining. “And how did Rumlow treat you? Why’d you pick him?”

Steve shrugs and then winces. “He seemed alright at first. I’d met a lot of guys in the Army. Rumlow wasn’t any different. Basically, he offered something I needed.”

“I need you to tell me how he put you down, Steve,” Sam prompts. It’s not an order — Sam can’t make this an order, even as much as he needs to know — but it’s sure as hell not a question either. Sam lets the weight of the request hang in the air until Steve isn’t able to bear the tension any longer.

“I heal fast,” Steve explains quietly, his eyes fixed on the far wall. “He did whatever he wanted. In the field, he played it safe. Just enough to level me out, nothing to compromise my ability to perform. When we were off-duty, sometimes it went further. I never stopped him.”

Sam’s heard those words before — people who don’t think they can say “no,” people who fear what “no” will mean, people who don’t think they deserve the word. 

There’s a knot in the pit of his stomach because knows what he needs to ask next. He tries to gentle his voice, but he knows that there’s no cushioning this one no matter how he asks. “Did he ever rape you?” 

Steve shakes his head. “I’m stronger than him.” Another patented Steve Rogers non-answer, albeit one that Steve seems to believe himself. Still, Sam can see that Steve’s bending the narrative, he’s trying to hide the ugly, jagged parts that don’t quite fit with the idea that Steve ever wanted what was happening. 

Sam’s chest hurts because he cares about this dumbass sitting across the table from him. He could probably fall pretty fucking hard for him, given enough time, and that makes this all the harder. If Sam hadn’t been a therapist he’d never be able to be this frank about something so fucking abhorrent as rape and he hates — _hates_ — using his work skills to figure out just how traumatized his partner is, but Steve clearly doesn’t plan to be forthcoming. 

Sam does his best to jam all those thoughts and feelings into a tiny little box and lock it away before he asks, “Before us, were you two intimate?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits, still unable to meet Sam’s eyes. “But once you and I became exclusive I took it off the table. I promise I was honest with you Sam.”

Sam nods. He’d never doubted Steve before and he doesn’t now. Hell, even if Steve had lied, Sam’s not sure he’d care, not in the face of all this. He wants to ask if Steve at least enjoyed it, if he came, if they ever just exchanged sex for fun — things normal fuck buddies get up to. But what comes out of his mouth is, “Was it just another way for him to dom you? More ‘order through pain?’”

Sam watches the fine tremor that runs through Steve before he forces himself to be still. “I never stopped him,” Steve repeats.

Sam bites his lip and nods. He can practically see Steve shutting down, and either way, Sam doesn’t think he can take any more of this. Both of them need a little time not to think, need the rush of hormones from headspace that makes everything feel like it’s fine, even when it’s definitely not. “Yeah, alright, man. Alright.”

Steve nods and looks relieved, but nothing about this is “alright.” 

Sam leads Steve to the bedroom and situates him carefully on his stomach across the bed, the bottoms of his feet exposed. Sam wishes he could just refuse to do this again, could refuse to hurt Steve — even if it is to help — until they’ve gotten this shit sorted. But that’s not how this works. Steve, for all the choices he clearly hasn’t gotten to make, has to be the one to make that call; it won’t help anything if Sam forces him to change how he goes down, not when he’s in so much pain and dropped so hard he can barely feed himself, and especially not when it’s what Steve’s asked Sam to do. He’s already had too many decisions made without his input.

As Sam digs out a thin, wicked looking cane, he thinks that having a building dropped on Rumlow wasn’t half of what the sonofabitch deserved after everything he’s done but at the very least he’s out of Steve’s life. It’ll have to be enough.

*****

It’s Thursday and they’ve burned through all their leads on Bucky’s current whereabouts. Sam knows the search is important but he honestly can’t complain about having a few days off while they wait on another batch of intel. So with a lazy day ahead of both of them, Sam gives Steve a meaningful look over a glass of orange juice. 

“You got something in mind there, Sam?” Steve asks with a grin.

“Oh, I got several somethings in mind,” Sam clarifies. 

Steve’s fair Irish skin doesn’t hide the blush that creeps across his cheeks. “I’m game, Sammy.”

Sam smiles and leans back in his chair. This is a gamble and he knows it, but the worst that can happen is Steve says no. Or he has a massive panic attack. Either way. “So I know we talked about how you need pain to go down, and I know sex has been involved in that for you before-” Steve’s expression grows dark, but Sam presses on, “-but I want to try something different. You can always say ‘no,’ Steve. I want you to know that before we go any farther.”

Steve nods. “I know, Sam. Consent is ongoing and can be revoked at any time, for any reason, and I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation.”

The words are a direct quote and Sam smiles, pleased that Steve has actually listened to and absorbed something that Sam’s been saying. “Good, Steve,” he praises and Steve preens slightly. “Do you know what edging is?”

The blush returns with a vengeance. “Yeah.”

“Alright. Can I try to put you down with that?” 

Steve stabs forcefully at his omelet. “I mean, I don’t think it’ll-”

Sam frowns and cuts off Steve. “That’s not what I asked. Can I _try_ to put you down by edging you?”

Steve goes quiet and still, and Sam can practically hear the gears turning. Finally, quietly, Steve answers. “We can try it, yeah.”

Sam nods. “I appreciate you trusting me with this, Steve. If it doesn’t work, then we just had a really enjoyable morning. Either way, it’s a win-win.”

Steve grins, though there’s an undercurrent of fear this time. “Sounds like a plan.”

*****

Sam runs his palm up Steve’s heaving chest and Steve pushes into the contact, whining when Sam pulls his hand away. 

“Please, Sam, please,” Steve begs. His eyes track to Sam, his pupils blown wide despite the light coming in through the yellowed hotel curtains. 

“What do you want, baby?” Sam asks softly.

Steve shakes his head against the pillow, his fingers flexing and relaxing around the bars of the headboard. “Don’t care. Just want you.”

Sam drags a finger up the length of Steve dark red and straining cock. Steve groans loud and long, his back arching off the bed, but Sam pulls his hand away before Steve can get the release he so desperately wants. Sam runs his hands over Steve’s thighs and then back up over his ribs and chest where he rubs Steve’s nipples until he’s moaning with it. 

The first few times Sam brought him to the edge, Steve just bitched and moaned. But by the sixth time he was going down fast. Now after nine, Sam’s got him where he wants him and it’s time to wrap it up. 

Without warning, Sam takes Steve in hand and begins stroking him slowly. Steve collapses against the bed like the air’s been punched out of him, his mouth hanging open in momentary, stunned silence. Slowly, as Steve manages to refill his lungs, the silence gives way to moans and half-spoken pleas. In less than a minute, his whole body tightens as his orgasm washes over him. Sam strokes him through it into overstimulation, until Steve’s writhing on the bed and begging for mercy, and only then does he release him.

“How’re you feeling, baby?” Sam asks as he slowly peels Steve’s fingers free from the metal bars of the headboard. 

“Mmm,” Steve says articulately, his eyes already closed.

Sam chuckles. “Use your words,” he chides softly.

“‘M good, Sammy,” Steve mumbles. 

Sam knows it’s sappy, but he gives into the impulse to lean over and kiss Steve on the forehead. Steve hums happily, his eyes never opening. While Steve floats, Sam cleans him up and then quickly takes care of himself in the bathroom. When he comes back to bed, Sam finds himself quickly wrapped in Steve’s arms, pulled close like a lover of years, not months. 

For a long while, it’s quiet and Sam thinks that Steve’s finally asleep, so it startles him when Steve says, “Thank you, Sam.” 

Sam tightens his hold around Steve. They’ve danced around everything that went down with Rumlow in the months since Sam first asked, never directly addressing it, never gaining any ground. Sam doesn't know if this “thank you” is just for the hand job, but he hopes that it's more. He hopes that maybe it's Steve realizing that Rumlow was wrong, that none of this is about order or pain or atonement for being who and what he is. 

Of course Sam isn’t stupid enough to think that pain’s off the table now; people don’t switch tracks that fast. And besides, Steve is all spit and vinegar and righteous fury that sometimes just won’t take a fucking chill pill. It’s just who he is. There are days that he needs something to rage against before he can get out of his head. Sam gets it. But maybe after today Steve won’t always ask to be hurt when what he really wants is just to be loved.


End file.
